


The Moments In Between

by MHMoony



Series: Lost & Found [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, canon compliant except for the fact that no one fucking dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHMoony/pseuds/MHMoony
Summary: A collection of one-shots peeking into the lives of one Harry Hart and one Hamish Campbell.





	1. Motherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish spends the winter holiday with the Harts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betad or Britpicked, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies!

**December 1978**

“Harry, I really don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, Hamish, Mother is delighted to have you over during holiday. She even made up the guest bedroom and en suite herself. And besides, we’re already almost there.”

Hamish sighed as he leaned back against the tan leather upholstery of the car seat. Never in his life did he ever believe that he would be sitting in the back of an honest-to-god Rolls Royce limousine, being driven by an actual driver to his best friend’s house to stay there until the beginning of the Lent term. Watching the light grey sky and towering trees pass by through the window, Hamish thought about what the entrance of Harry Hart had done to his life.

He was never one for one night stands. The fact that they met at his roommate’s—Glen’s—party and then engaged in, well, quite the rigorous activity before Hamish had even told Harry his name was most definitely out of character for him, but he blamed it on the fact that he had just spent his first summer not at home with his da. He had blessedly already been well over his grieving process (thanks to a certain children’s television programme that he still hasn’t told a soul about, not even Harry), but experiencing the beginning of term once again without his father left him feeling the smallest bit hollow.

Glen, bless his heart, had thought the party would help lift his spirits, and, Hamish supposed, Glen hadn’t been wrong. It wasn’t just his spirits that had been raised that night, after all.

Although he had been exuding an air of steady calm after they had come down from their highs that night, Hamish had most definitely been panicking on the inside. What was the usual protocol for this? Did he ask Harry to leave? Did Harry leave on his own accord? Did he even  _ want  _ Harry to leave? He was cut out of his thoughts by Harry himself, something that Hamish would soon learn would become a common occurrence.

“That…that was, uhm,” Harry began next to him, “well, that was quite lovely, don’t you think?”

Hamish couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped his lips and how proper the young man was. “Yes, that’s one way of putting it.” He turned his head to look at Harry, his previously perfectly quaffed hair now tousled and wild from the evening’s activities. That, along with that soft, lopsided grin on his face made Hamish think he just might have stumbled upon one of the most charming creatures on the planet. “My name is Hamish, by the way.”

Harry’s smile faltered as pink began to crawl up his chest and neck. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “it’s nice to meet you, Hamish.”

Hamish chuckled once more and shook his head, his nerves settling at seeing Harry so suddenly shy. “You are certainly an interesting specimen, Harry Hart.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You were all jittery and shy tonight,” Hamish started. Harry quickly began turning scarlet. 

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” he reassured. “It’s actually, as you said earlier, quite lovely. But this isn’t who I thought would be the same person who was reciting Lord Byron in the middle of campus a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, do you enjoy Byron, as well?” Harry perked up, his prior bashfulness disappearing in a flash. “He just has this way with words, don’t you think?”

Hamish blinked at the man lying next to him. Like night and day, he thought, and he doesn’t even realise it.

“ _ Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot _ ,” Harry continued. Lord, now he’s reciting Byron post coitus, Hamish thought. “ _ To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still _ .”

Harry looked pleased with himself, and Hamish raised a brow. “Yes, he is certainly a master of romanticism,” he commented. “But I think I prefer the words of Hemingway instead.”

“Oh?”

“‘There is nothing nobler in being superior to your fellow man. True nobility lies in being superior to your former self.’”

“That’s not even one of his poems,” Harry smiled.

“No, but they’re still his words,” Hamish countered.

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Superior to your former self?”

Hamish studied Harry for a moment who was looking earnestly back at him. There was no judgement in his voice nor face, just a genuine question, and Hamish found it relaxing and relieving.

“I like to think so,” he answered. “It’s something we should all strive to be, I believe.”

“Hm. I suppose so.”

And then they hadn’t stopped talking. Throughout the night, as the noise from the party outside his bedroom door dwindled away and up until the sun began creeping through his curtains, Hamish and Harry had just talked, about any and everything and all that was in between. It was the most comfortable Hamish had ever felt around another person, even Glen.

Dawn was breaking when Harry finally yawned.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Hamish suggested.

“Right, of course,” Harry said hesitantly. 

He began getting up, but Hamish placed a hand on his arm. “If you think I’m letting you walk back to your dorm before you even had at least a nap after staying up all night, then you’d be very wrong.”

Harry looked at him curiously. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Come on, back on you get.”

Harry resettled into the mattress as Hamish pulled the duvet over them from the foot of the bed.

“Before we fall asleep, though, I wanted to ask you something.”

Hamish turned his body so he was lying on his side facing Harry, staying silent so Harry would continue.

“So, tonight. Last night. Whatever time of day. Was that…?” He looked at Hamish almost warily, cautiously, and Hamish sighed.

He felt like a right prick.

“I…am not in the best place to have any sort of anything, Harry. And I’m sorry if I lead you to believe that. I  _ did _ lead you to believe that, so I am sorry. I just…I’m working two jobs on top of two degrees, and I honestly don’t think I’d be able to give anyone the attention they deserve if I were to be with them in, well…”

He stopped there, gauging Harry’s response. The last thing he would want to do was hurt him, and he already felt the crippling feeling of guilt begin to trickle down on him.

Instead, though, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and Hamish didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.

“Thank God,” Harry muttered. Realising his choice of words, he widened his eyes and backtracked. “Not that I wouldn’t want to start anything with you! You’re lovely and fit for the gods, good lord, but I’m not exactly, well…out. And I wouldn’t want to hide away my relationship when I’m ready to come out.”

Hamish nodded his head in understanding. Hell, he had never come out to his own father due to the fear of his reaction and possible rejection, and now he had to live with the fact that the man had died without knowing who he truly was.

“But,” Harry continued, “I’d very much like it if we could remain friends at least. We talked all through the night without stopping once, so surely we have at least something in common.”

Hamish smiled and shook his head. “Of course we can stay friends, you daft bastard. Now close your eyes, I want to go to sleep.”

“As you command, Hamish.”

That had been two months ago, and Harry Hart had practically become a third roommate in his and Glen’s flat, Glen not even batting an eye at the addition to their home and treating him as though he had always been a fixture on their couch and in their kitchen, talking and enjoying his company, and Harry doing the same with Glen. The fact that Harry was a damned good cook helped, as well.

“It was even my mother who invited you to stay, not me,” Harry said next to him, taking Hamish away from thoughts. “So you truly have nothing to worry about.”

“I just don’t want to come off as—”

“—the needy state educated boy from Aberdeen, I know,” Harry finished, rolling his eyes.

Hamish would have been offended had he not been saying those exact words for a month straight.

“And even if you wanted us to turn around, I wouldn’t let you because we’re already here.”

Hamish knew Harry was wealthy, but this was practically the Home Farm on  _ Emmerdale _ .

The car went through two large gates bracketed by stone fences down the longest driveway Hamish had ever seen. At the end of the road, a brick mansion that had to have existed long before he was even a twinkle in his ma’s eye. The grey stone would have been imposing and intimidating had it not been for the amount of grass and shrubbery surrounding it, along with trees lining the driveway, and daisies, tulips, chrysanthemums, and ivy hugging the walls of Harry’s childhood home. 

The driver pulled to a stop in front of a wide set of stairs that lead to grand, chocolate wooden double doors. He stepped out of the car and stared wide eyed at the massive structure; if the Hart Manor looked daunting from a distance, being directly in front of it only doubled that feeling. 

Hamish let out a nervous breath. 

“Good lord, Hamish, it’s not like you’re meeting your in-laws,” Harry said with a smile and a nudge. “Relax.”

Hamish rolled his eyes at Harry, but smiled back. “Should we get our bags, then?”

“I’ll have them sorted in your rooms, sir, no need to worry.” Hamish turned around to see their driver giving him a polite smile and nod.

“Thank you, Nigel,” Harry said. “Most appreciated as always. Now,” he paused to turn back to Hamish, “let’s go inside, I’m quite famished from the drive.”

They walked up the steps and, before Harry could even take out his house key, the doors swung open and a blur of light peach zoomed past him and clutched onto Harry.

“Oh, my dear boy is finally back home!”

Harry glanced at Merlin, but hugged his mother back just as tight as she kissed his cheek. “Hello, Mother. I’m happy to be home, too.” 

He released his hold on her and she obliged, but still kept her hands on his shoulders and kept him at arm’s length.

“And this is Hamish,” he continued. “My friend from Cambridge.”

“Hello, ma—”

Hamish was cut off by a bone crushing hug, and for a moment, he was stunned before awkwardly reciprocating. She pulled away and beamed at the two of them.

“We’re so glad that you could spend your holiday here with us, Hamish,” Mrs. Hart greeted warmly. “Christmas will be lovely with your company.”

“And Boxing Day and New Years,” Harry added.

“Come on then, let’s go on inside. It’s rather chilly out here.”

The interior of their home was just as grand as the outside, but there was a certain warmth, a welcoming air about the place that opposed the slightly intimidating frame of the outside. Perhaps it was all of the light woods everywhere, from table tops to the legs of various seating furniture, and the complimenting hardwood floors, but Hamish found himself relaxing within the Hart Manor.

“Harry’s finally here, is he?” he heard a deep voice coming from up the staircase.

He glanced over at Harry and saw his eyes lose their mirth and his smile lessen just a touch. His shoulders were tense as an older man in a casual suit (but black? Really?) make his way down the steps and stop in front of Harry.

Harry cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Hello, Father.” Though he greeted his mother in the same way, Hamish noticed the distinct lack of affection in his tone.

Harry’s father clapped his hand and gave a firm shake. “Welcome home, son.” He glanced over at Hamish suspiciously. “Ah, and this is your…friend from university?”

Hamish put on his most polite face and offered out his hand. “Yes, sir. My name is Hamish Campbell. Pleasure to meet you.”

Mr. Hart shook his hand, but still eyed him. It suddenly became clear where Harry’s difference in personality came from, Hamish noticed. His confidence and warmth clearly came from his mother, the darling woman that she was and Hamish had only known her for about five minutes, but the way Harry steeled himself sometimes, and even when he became quiet and shy, these were all traits he either gained from or were caused by his father.

He suddenly had a higher regard for Mrs. Hart than he had before.

Mr. Hart let go and nodded at them all before escaping back upstairs. Hamish looked over at Mrs. Hart who put on a smile, but not before he noticed the disappointed and almost pained look that had previously been on her face at her husband’s actions.

“Well, you two must be exhausted from that drive. Why don’t you go relax while Nigel gets your suitcases situated?”

She gave them one last smile before waving to them and heading off to some other area of the mansion.

Harry let out a sigh as his shoulders drooped just a touch. “I love coming home,” he said, “but I also hate it.”

Hamish didn’t need to ask the specifics behind either.

“But as Mother said,” Harry continued, perking up, “it’s time we go relax. I can show you the parlour room.”

Hamish was staying in a home that had a fucking parlour room. As they made their way to their destination, he was almost relieved when Harry didn’t start giving him a detailed tour of the halls and going on about the Baroque period or something of the like.

Harry collapsed on the settee next to the fireplace and Hamish did the same in the wing backed chair next to it. They were silent for a moment, enjoying sitting in the soft and comfy cushions instead of the leathered car seats.

“She knows,” Harry said quietly after a moment. “They both know. But she clearly is far more accepting than him.”

Hamish also didn’t need to ask exactly who she and him were.

“I thought you said you weren’t out.”

“I’m not. I’m only out to them and you. And Glen, I suppose.”

“He’s going to be jealous as shit when I tell him about your home,” Hamish chuckled.

“Yes, well,” Harry snorted, “one queer in this house is already enough madness for my father, let alone three.”

Hamish felt himself go still, his heart beating fast. The looks Harry’s father was giving him suddenly made far too much sense, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle being in this place for a month under such scrutiny and judgement. “Your parents…they don’t know that—”

“No,” Harry said immediately looking over at him. “Not at all.”

Hamish relaxed once again. “Okay. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, you numpty,” Harry laughed. “Just enjoy your holiday, alright? For me?”

Hamish playfully rolled his eyes. “Anything for the great Harry Hart.”

“And you damn well know it.”

Hamish threw a throw pillow at his face.

—

Hamish sighed as he padded into the kitchen down in the lower level of the mansion and turned on the light. Although it was nearing two in the morning, he couldn’t sleep and tried very hard not to think about why. However, his mind had other plans, and whether he liked it or not, it wanted to dissect its newest findings until there was nothing left to pick and prod at. 

As he looked for a kettle to make some tea, Hamish thought about Harry’s mother. She was one of the most lovely women Hamish had ever had the fortune to meet, showing him nothing but kindness and welcoming since his arrival. Since long before his arrival, if anything, having told Harry to bring him along for the holidays in only the first week of November. She was everything he had hoped his own mother would be, had she actually chosen to come back. Losing a mother that wasn’t actually dead had been hard on him as a child, and although he thought he’d long overcome that childhood wound, being around Harry’s loving and devoted mother only opened him up to what ifs and what could have beens.

“Kettle is above the stove.”

Hamish jumped at the sudden voice and turned around. “Mrs. Hart,” he said. “Sorry if I made any noise. I just…couldn’t sleep. Thought some tea could help.”

Mrs. Hart nodded and smiled softly as she entered and went about grabbing the kettle and preparing everything ready for a nice English breakfast. “Go on, have a seat at the table. I’ll fix this up.”

“Oh, no, really, I can—”

“Hamish.” She turned to Hamish with a pointed look and gestured to the small wooden table next to the counter. Not saying anything else, he obliged and sat down.

When Mrs. Hart was finished and set the kettle to boil, she came over and sat down in the seat across from Hamish.

“So,” she began, “couldn’t sleep.”

Hamish nodded, not quite knowing where this conversation was going.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

“Aye, I guess I do,” Hamish said slowly. “I mean, yes. Yes, I, uh, suppose so.”

Mrs. Hart’s eyes softened. “Hamish, dear, please don’t feel the need to alter who you are or how you talk in front of us. We’d like to get to know you, the best friend that Harry is always talking about in his letters.”

Hamish couldn’t help the small smile that found its way onto his lips. “Hope he’s said only nice things.”

“The nicest, actually.”

The kettle began whistling and Mrs. Hart went to take it off the stove, pouring the contents into two mugs before placing them on a tray with sugar and milk. Bringing them over, she set one in front of Hamish and the other for herself. 

“Thank you,” he said taking the mug.

Hamish added a splash of milk and one teaspoon of sugar to his and stirred. Taking a sip, he already felt his body begin to relax. Maybe it was being in England for over a year now, but he found himself enjoying traditional English breakfast more and more.

They sat in silence for a few moments sipping their tea, Hamish feeling somewhere between relaxed and still a bit nervous at being alone with Harry’s mum. He broke the silence after a few more moments.

“Thank you again for letting me stay here throughout the holidays.”

She smiled at him. “The pleasure is all ours, dear.”

“This is the first holiday since I started at Cambridge that I’ll be spending with a family,” he said quietly. “So I really appreciate all this.”

Mrs. Hart paused at that, setting her mug down, and gave Hamish the most warm and affectionate look. “You’re always welcome here, Hamish. That’s a promise.”

The feelings of what could have and what should have been came creeping back, and Hamish had to calm down the wealth of emotions spreading through him.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Hart. That means quite a lot.”

Mrs. Hart only smiled softly back at him. They finished the rest of their tea in silence, and when Hamish moved to wash up, Mrs. Hart only batted him away. “No no, you’re a guest. When you come over on a second term break, then you’re obligated to wash your own dishes.”

There was a familiar gleam in her eyes, one that he’d seen many times over the last few months since that party back at the beginning of October. He smiled at her and relented. “Alright, if you say so. Goodnight, Mrs. Hart. Thank you for the tea and company.”

He moved to leave, but she stopped him. “Goodnight, dear. Have a good sleep.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, much like the one she gave Harry when they first arrived at the doorsteps.

He smiled tightly at her, not wanting the emotions bubbling inside him to burst. Mrs. Hart was the mother that he had always wanted. And he tried to push back the feeling that maybe she could eventually be that for him, too.

—

The next day Hamish, Harry, and Mrs. Hart were watching telly in the parlour. Harry was scrolling through channels when Hamish heard a familiar sound.

“Wait,” he said. “Is it alright if we watch this?”

Harry and Mrs. Hart didn’t even bat an eye as they watched Beaker and Bunsen try (and fail) at their holiday experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1._
> 
> _I watched thee when the foe was at our side,_   
>  _Ready to strike at him—or thee and me,_   
>  _Were safety hopeless—rather than divide_   
>  _Aught with one loved save love and liberty._
> 
> _2._
> 
> _I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock_   
>  _Received our prow, and all was storm and fear,_   
>  _And bade thee cling to me through every shock;_   
>  _This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier._
> 
> _3._
> 
> _I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes_   
>  _Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground_   
>  _When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise_   
>  _From thence if thou an early grave hadst found._
> 
> _4._
> 
> _The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall_   
>  _And men and nature reeled as if with wine._   
>  _Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?_   
>  _For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine._
> 
> _5._
> 
> _And when convulsive throes denied my breath_   
>  _The faintest utterance to my fading thought,_   
>  _To thee—to thee—e’en in the gasp of death_   
>  _My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought._
> 
> _6._
> 
> _Thus much and more; and yet thou lov’st me not,_  
>  _And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will._  
>  _Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot_  
>  _To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still._  
>  _Love and Death_ , Lord Byron


	2. A Small Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is going on his first long-term mission, so he leaves a small gift for Hamish to keep him company while he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to mitsurugikun for gifting me with this excellent headcanon, and letting me write it out!
> 
> Not betaed or Britpicked, so I apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies!

**January, 1986**

Hamish was hunched over his desk in his flat, carefully drawing line after line on his latest schematic which he hoped would soon become Kingsman’s latest piece of technology. If his calculations were correct (and they almost always were correct), these glasses should have the ability to not only provide shielding for the agent’s eyes, but also rid of the earpiece/microphone combination that’s been getting in the way—too many wires getting caught around something, or the wires too loose. This, he believed, would solve those problems. Perhaps one day, he could even modify them even more to make it easier on the handlers as well, but one step at a time. 

He heard a knock and looked up from his work to see Harry standing in the doorway that connected his bedroom and the rest of his flat, his hands behind his back. 

“Hello, Harry,” Hamish greeted with a smile as he puts down his pencil. “Making use of the key I gave you, I see.”

Harry smiled softly and walked towards him. “I thought I might be able to let myself in now that I have it.”

“Yes, that  _ is _ why I gave it to you,” Hamish chuckled. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this evening visit?”

“Can’t a man come see his beloved boyfriend without being interrogated?” Harry asked with a playful grin as he leaned one hip on Hamish’s desk. 

Hamish’s smile widened at the term ‘boyfriend.’ This thing between them was new, having started after he had woken up from being knocked unconscious during their mission in Romania. Harry was more than relieved when he’d regained consciousness, but there was also something different about the way he looked at him, the way he acted around him, like he was almost walking around eggshells. Hamish had chalked it up to Harry feeling shaken at the near possibility of losing his friend, but when he was still acting a bit off two months later, Hamish had had enough, and confronted him about it when they were having a drink in Harry’s living room.

“Harry, what the hell is going on?” Hamish asked as he set down his glass on the coffee table (on top of a coaster because otherwise, it would drive Harry mad).

Harry stiffened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hamish.” For all the training Harry had in subtlety and espionage, Hamish could still see through him as though he were nothing but a window.

“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “You’ve been acting weird ever since Romania. What’s wrong?”

Harry looked down at the drink in his hand swirled it around. “Nothing’s wrong in the slightest.”

Hamish studied his friend, the way his lips seemed to be fighting off a frow, how his brows were furrowed in what looked like concentration, his eyes steady on the amber liquid swirling around his tumbler. He was slightly biting his lower lip, and Hamish couldn’t help but smile a little at how it almost made him seem like he was giving off a soft pout.

This quiet and shy Harry almost reminded him of when they first met, Harry fumbling with his drink and his clothes, and Hamish ever curious and more than interested. Suddenly, it clicked.

He got up and slowly began to make his way to Harry, who looked up and tilted his head questioningly.

Reaching out, Hamish gently cupped Harry’s cheek and traced his thumb along his lip. “Careful,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “you might break skin.”

He could see Harry’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Hamish, what are you—”

“I’ve been thinking about this a long time, Harry,” he started. “Definitely since I saw you at basic training, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve probably been thinking about it since that night at Glen’s party.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he brought up his hand to press it against Hamish’s. “Hamish, do you mean…well, do you--”

“I want to be with you, Harry,” he said quietly. “You’re…you’re my best friend, the only family I have. And god help me, I’m sure I’ve been in love with you since you spilled beer all over Glen’s shirt.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh. “I believe I could say the same to you.”

Hamish smiled softly. “Alright, then.”

He leaned down and closed his eyes, and could feel Harry’s breath begin to mingle with his own, when a small bark interrupted them. Looking down, he saw Mister Pickle with his tongue flopping out and tail wagging happily. Hamish laughed. “Do you mind?”

Harry grinned and picked up the small cairn. “Oh hush, he’s just happy we’ve finally figured it out. Aren’t you, Mister Pickle?”

Mister Pickle barked and reached out to lick Hamish’s nose. He laughed and shook his head, and turned his eyes to meet Harry’s. “As am I.”

Harry’s eyes softened. “Me, too, Hamish.”

That night had been only three weeks ago, and since then, Hamish’s life had been significantly brighter. Of course, they had to keep it hush hush and couldn’t very well fraternize during work hours or on any of the premises, but it worked.  _ They  _ worked. 

“Since you’re so curious, though,” Harry continued, “I do have a little something for you.”

Hamish raised his brows as he revealed a small box tied with a delicate ribbon that he had hidden behind his back. “Here you are, darling.”

Hamish took it and smiled softly. “Thank you, love.”

“You have to open it.” Harry almost sounded nervous, which only spiked Hamish’s curiosity.

He untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, and blinked. No, it couldn’t be…

“Is that…” Hamish reached in and pulled out the small stuffed toy. “Is this Beaker?”

He looked up to see Harry shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “Well…yes,” he mumbled. “I know how much you love him, and this will be my first mission that will be taking me away for a while…” 

Hamish fell more in love right then and there. He set Beaker down next to his desk lamp and stood up, cradling Harry’s face in his hands, and pulled him in for a kiss. “You are a ridiculous man,” he muttered with a smile as he rested his forehead against his. “But you’re the most thoughtful and caring ridiculous man, and I love you.”

Harry preened at the praise. “So you like him, then?”

Hamish turned his head to look at the little frowning muppet sitting on his desk. “I love him.” He looked back to Harry and gave him a soft kiss. “And I love you. Thank you, love.”

“I’m glad,” Harry grinned, and then looked at the clock sitting on the wall. “Well, I leave tomorrow morning, and it is getting quite late already—”

“It’s not even seven yet—”

“I was thinking of turning in early.”

Hamish frowned. “You’re going home now?”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you daft genius. I meant turning in early in your bed, with you, preferably with no clothes on.”

Hamish’s brows shot up. “Oh.  _ Oh _ , right, right. That, that sounds lovely.”

Harry smirked and backed away, slowly turning as he walked out the door. Shaking himself, Hamish turned off the lights and quickly followed after him.

\---

**Kingsman HQ, Present Day**

“Merlin, what the hell is that?”

Hamish looked up from his multiple screens to see Eggsy pointing at something on his desk. Following his line of sight, Hamish smiled slightly to see Beaker leaning against pen and pencil holder, frown and all.

“That’s Beaker,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know, his colour’s a bit dulled now, but he’s still as good as ever.”

He turned to look back at Eggsy who had the most incredulous expression on his face. “Okay…” he said slowly. “But why do you have him?”

“He was a gift. Keeps me company when I’m by myself.”

Eggsy furrowed his brows. “But you’re in the estate, I’m here and so is Percival, and Olivia’s in the labs, too—”

A knock sounded, and Hamish smiled as he saw Harry standing in the doorway. “Hello, darling. Eggsy.”

“Harry, you’re back,” Hamish greeted as Harry began walking towards his desk.

“How was America, Harry?” Eggsy asked.

“Good, good. Just finished up the final rounds of paperwork. Whiskey said she’ll be sending copies over as soon as possible.” He glanced over at Beaker and smiled. “Beaker make sure you didn’t get lonely?”

“As always.”

“What the fuck?”

Hamish and Harry both looked to Eggsy, who seemed to be even more confused than he was before. “ _ You _ got him Beaker?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Back in ‘86, I believe? It was right before I went on my first long-term assignment.”

“Aye, three months of undercover work,” he added. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Even better than the special edition box set of the original series I got you for Christmas last year?!” Eggsy looked absolutely affronted. “That was an amazing gift!”

“Eggsy, the only thing Star Trek related Merlin doesn’t have is a handwritten love letter from William Shatner himself. And I’d advise you to not go about getting one for him,” Harry looked pointedly at Eggsy as he could see the idea beginning to form in his head.

Eggsy frowned, but perked up a bit as he pressed his finger against the side of his glasses. “Alright, see you soon,” he said. “Rox and Olivia wanna meet me and Tilde for dinner. I’ll see you two lovebirds later.” He smirked as he walked out the door, giving Hamish and Harry a sly look, and closed the door.

Hamish sighed and shook his head. “That boy.”

“You’ve done well with him, darling,” Harry said.

“As have you.”

Harry walked around and wrapped his arms from behind, resting his head on top of Hamish’s. He reached out and picked up Beaker, turning him over in his hand. “I can’t believe you still have him.”

“He’s good company,” Hamish said. “Doesn’t talk back and give me a shit-eating grin like some people.”

Hamish couldn’t see, but he knew Harry’s expression had changed to just that. He felt him place a kiss on his head, and Harry put Beaker back in his original place.

“I love you, Hamish.”

Hamish smiled and leaned back into Harry’s chest. “I love you, too, Harry. Beaker and all.”


	3. La Mer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the prompt: okay so. fluffy merlahad.....dancing to La Mer.

**1998**

Harry turned the vase one quarter to the left to allow the small bouquet of wildflowers to rest perfectly in the middle of the table. He smiled to himself. Perfect. Everything was simply perfect.

He looked out on the balcony where he had set his and Merlin’s dinner, and swept his eyes across the twinkling sea of Paris lights glowing under the dark night sky. It was picturesque, a sight that could only truly take someone’s breath away if they were to be there in the flesh to experience the pure magic the city ignites.

Or Harry was just feeling especially romantic this particular evening and he wanted everything to go perfectly as planned.

Only one week prior, Harry had come home from a daunting and grueling undercover mission that had lasted well over the originally predicted and designated timeframe. The three month assignment (which was only supposed to be a one month assignment) took more out of Harry than he thought it would, and the resident doctors and therapists in Kingsman’s medical wing vehemently pushed for Harry to be out of the field and on leave for at least three weeks. And although Harry was the type to get antsy and impatient when rooted to the ground for an extended period of time with no missions under his belt, even he admitted that some vacation time sounded absolutely divine.

Which was also serendipitous because Merlin (and Percival and Lancelot) was scheduled to have a, and in Merlin’s own words, “light and relatively easy surveillance mission in Paris for a few days.” And so what if Harry had gone ahead and booked a flight to Paris without Merlin’s knowledge and then went into his room when the three of them were out scouting to set up a romantic meal for two? It’s not like Merlin could actually be displeased over seeing the love of his life patiently waiting with his favourite foods and scotch his hotel room.

Just as he was finishing admiring his work, the sound of keys rattling against the door caused Harry’s ears perked up. He smiled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry.”

Harry turned around to see an extremely disgruntled Merlin pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand and loosely holding a standard Kingsman pistol with his right.

“Darling, you’re home,” Harry greeted brightly. “I hope work today wasn’t too hard on you.”

“It wasn’t until I was alerted that someone broke into my fucking hotel room.”

Merlin locked the door and went to put his gun away and Harry went over to him, wrapping his arms around the other man from behind.

“Are you really so upset to see me?” he murmured in his ear.

Merlin sighed and rested his hands on top of Harry’s. “Of course not, you bastard.” He turned around so he could face him, placing his hands gently on the back of Harry’s neck. “I just would rather have not thought a parisian mob boss had suddenly found his way into my room while I was in the car with James and Peter.”

Harry gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Terribly sorry to cause you any worry. If I may make up for it, though, I do have a lovely meal waiting for us on the terrace.”

Merlin chuckled and shook his head. “You theatrical, romantic peacock. You really flew all the way to Paris just to have dinner with me?”

Harry flashed him his most charming smile. “I see my opportunities and take them as they come, _mon chéri_.”

Harry took his arms away and guided him out onto the balcony. Merlin saw the set-up and chuckled. “You are far too good to me, Harry.”

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Harry said, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him to sit, “I only try my best to give you what you deserve. Which is the best.”

“Well, you succeed time and time again.”

Harry smiled adoringly at Merlin before stepping away to turn on the radio he had brought out from the room. He moved to sit down when Merlin stopped him. “Wait, I like this song. Why don’t we dance?”

Harry couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of him. “Isn’t that what I usually ask you?”

Merlin shrugged and smiled. “Perhaps it’s Paris.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he held out his hand for Merlin and helped him out of his seat. “Perhaps.”

He pulled him close as he put one hand on his shoulder and Merlin placed his on the small of Harry’s back. Merlin cradled Harry’s hand close to his chest and leant his forehead against Harry’s. Harry took in every detail of Merlin’s face, from the crow’s feet beginning to make appearances around his currently closed eyes, the bit of stubble from just one day of not shaving, to his content and relaxed smile that gave off the barest hint of settling laugh lines. Just like the night Harry had planned out, Merlin’s face was absolutely perfect.

He began singing softly along with the crooning voice of Julio Iglesias, warmth radiating in his chest when Merlin’s smile became just a touch wider.

“Do you remember the last time we heard this song?” Merlin asked, opening his eyes.

“How could I forget?” Harry answered. “Kingsman Christmas party, 1989. It was the first time we made our relationship known to our colleagues.”

Merlin sighed happily. “I love you, Harry.”

“And I adore you, Hamish.”

They continued swaying to the music, Harry murmuring the words into Merlin’s ear.

“ _La mer, les a bercés, le long des golfes clairs, et d'une chanson d'amour, la mer a bercé mon cœur pour la vie._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Taking the biggest cause of my Firthrstrong emotional trauma and spinning into Merlahad fluff. Thanks to the anon for this lovely request <3


End file.
